


Red

by LadyLuckDoubt



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Hatesex, M/M, Mindfuck, Phoenix Wright Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-17
Updated: 2011-03-17
Packaged: 2017-10-17 01:53:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLuckDoubt/pseuds/LadyLuckDoubt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Juan and Matt's rivalry also extends to blackmail, sex, violence and generalised bitchiness. Warning put up because... look, it's not overtly graphic, but it's kind of... unpretty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> Someone on the Kink Meme asked for:
> 
>  _Okay, I've decided that I need this like burning:_
> 
>  _Juan/Matt, blowjob, Juan's hand fisted in Matt's hair, pulling his head back, exposing his scars despite the fact that he knows it pisses him off, and quite possibly running his fingers over them as Matt sucks him off - facefucking optional!_
> 
>  _Oh, also (and I wish this didn't need to be said) but no tenderness whatsoever - these guys really resent one another, and this weird fucking around they do is just another kind of rivalry/way to hurt each other._
> 
>  _Bonus points for allusions to previous encounters, grunting, seething hatred, and violence~_
> 
> Consider this your warning: I tried to fill the prompt as accurately as I could.
> 
> (Some of my headcanon is in here, too, like Corrida being a bit of an asshole and Matt's rise to fame.)

He's here because he hates himself. Underneath all the swagger and prestige and the slick-but-not-oily exterior, he knows that he's just a simple hick nobody who made it big and doesn't know what to do with it.

That's why he's here, that's why he keeps the rivalry going. He doesn't have to at all, and we know that; no one's on his level, so he takes a stab at the one the next rung down on the ladder. 

It's me.

I'm the same age as him, yet I'm the seasoned veteran, I'm the one who was in the game before he was, and the whole fucking industry can see the lights fizzling out on my show and turning on for his. And no one's doing a godammned thing about any of it. I'm destined to be the Jamming fucking Ninja. 

And I'm destined to have this little shit in debt to me. The animosity fuels the media. The media gives us both publicity. It keeps me in the papers when the ratings won't, and it threatens his stupid little pretty boy image.

He opens the door and walks in uninvited. I'm sitting on the end of my bed, reading through a collection of old reviews, and I look up when I hear the door open. I know it's going to be him.

I think he thinks he's the one in control when he arrives. Maybe he thinks he's going to blackmail me. I don't know, I don't particularly  _care_ , a pretty face on the end of my dick's always got its advantages and when it's  _his_ , I get to have the kind of fun the media wouldn't  _believe_. He might be refreshing as a spring breeze, but I'm the quiet, serene, gentle one. Engarde's the one who's so perky and peppy that you're certain that if you chip not too far beneath the facade, there's a colourful lovelife and a drug problem. Too much money acquired too young, and so desperate to make it in this cutthroat industry that he's probably done anything to get there. 

He never denied it when I suggested it, either.

"What do you want?" I stand up, and I can't help but smile. Despite the animosity between us, despite the fact that I hate that pretty little half-face of his, and despite the fact that I quite seriously  _do_  want to destroy him sometimes, and a lot more than he actually realises I do, he's so pretty that he's just  _begging_  to be broken. And that warms the cockles of my heart. 

"You're offering, are you?" he asks, in this conceited, childish sneer. "Well in  _that_  case, Mr. Rival, I'd like my contract renewed and my fee doubled,  _The Jamming Ninja_  to be moved to the prestigious 2am timeslot, and if you could get that agent and that intern of yours to avail themselves to me for sexual gratification, I'd be most indebted to you." He smiles. His teeth flash like newly-washed china, and I want to react then and there, but stop myself. This isn't anything, this is just his warm up.

He walks across the room and towards the television and DVD player. "Hmmm," he says to no one, enjoying the sound of his voice, "So the Jamming Ninja enjoys gay sex vids?" Smiles again, and his hair bounces, dangling over half his face, hiding his reality. Not for very long when he's around me. Right?

He's so cocky and pleased when he learns about the DVDs, like he's got something on me to take to the media.

"Imagine the headlines," he sneers.

I see him pick up one case and he pales and I know I've got him.

"What?" I ask smoothly. " _Nickel Samurai's Seedy Start_?" I smile at him then, demure, controlled,  _mature_ , the smile of a wise old man winning a game of chess. His pretty little face crumples.

"It wasn't  _me_ ," he protests.

"You weren't credited," I tell him. "That doesn't mean dick to the paparazzi."

He clicks that  _thing_  on his wrist, and then, in a slightly worried yet official sounding voice tells it, " _Fuckbuddies 5_ \-- through Stallion Entertainment-- acquire and destroy every single last one of them." He must be talking to his agent. 

"Was that embarrassing enough for you?" I ask smoothly. 

He ignores me and opens the case, trying to hide his panic. "There's nothing in here," he says.

I laugh. I can't help it, but I laugh. Uncontrolled and stupid of me, but it's fucking funny seeing him react like this. 

Stupid little shit.

"Where's the DVD?" he asks. His voice rises and he's a kid again, desperate to be liked and noticed and to not be humiliated. Trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. That's okay. He can have his illusions. I'll tear that from him like I've torn so much else.

He looks so  _cute_  when he's humiliated. 

I smile at him, toothy, easy, gentle.

"Where  _is_  it?" I can see him seething and twitching with rage now, and I've got this compelling, drawn-out desire to watch him  _suffer_. If it was safe to do so, I'd put the DVD on, sit him down, and make him watch himself getting fucked by three guys at once in all his technicolor, hi-definition, eyes-screwed-shut glory.

I stay where I am, smiling calmly, standing in the middle of the room, watching him panic. 

"I could go to the media," I say coolly. "Whenever the mood takes me." I move closer to him, and he's frozen to the spot. "Couldn't I, Matt?" My voice is butter. It's the soft sweet lullabye which invites forest creatures and cartoon animals towards me so I can sing them joyous melodies about rainbows and fireflies and love and peace and hope.

I sit down in my arm chair. He's not going to find the DVD, for the simple fact that it isn't  _here_. By the end of the afternoon, he's going to think he's walked out with it, but the real copy is down in an unmarked storage locker he doesn't know about.

" _Please_." I can see the whites of his eyes-- correction--  _eye_  and there's a sniffle from that button nose of his. Oh god. He's crying. Wet, clear liquid is running down his face and despite the surgery and the anti-ageing treatments he subjects himself to, it's the crying that makes him look so damned beautiful.

To me, anyway.

Up until he came along and started screwing with things, my life was perfect. He deserves this. Every last bit of it.

"Convince me." That's the beauty of it, that's all I need say. I part my legs a little further and look at the door. "Lock the door, please, Matt-- I wouldn't want to see a scandal in the papers about you."

He's grimacing, with a  _this-shouldn't-be-happening-to-_ me look on his face. The beauty of it is that he already knows he's defeated; it damn well  _is_  is happening to him as it should be. 

He locks the door in front of him, a sullen look on what I can see of his face. 

And then he gets down onto the floor. 

It's so effortless. He knows it's revenge for what happened two weeks ago, that  _that_  was revenge for what happened a few days before that, that this is the circle of life, this crazy carousel of payback, and that he can't-- and  _won't_  be getting off any time soon.

" _Please_ ," he asks one more time, on his knees now. "Just give me the DVD." 

I unzip my pants. It's all he needs. I'm not even fully hard yet, and his breath is ghosting over the bare skin of my dick, and I can feel it stiffening rapidly. He looks up at me with wish-I-was-innocent big brown eyes and I feel my heart race. Could this be love?

"Everyone knows you sucked plenty of cock to get where you are," I sneer at him, my hands in his hair now, pulling him onto me. "Ironic that where you are right now is... on my floor... sucking my..." I gasp as I enter his mouth. His eyes remain focussed on me, unflinching, no longer damp and glistening with tears. I'm right: he's done this before, he's on autodrive. It's too automatic, I think, as I thrust into him roughly, pulling him forwards and reaching as far down that pretty little throat as I can. He mumbles something, his mouth full of spit and dick and I pull him backwards, my hands in his hair clutching for dear life. He looks momentarily surprised when I study his face, and then I can see the shock in his eyes-- I've exposed him. His dual mask faces me, beautiful and untainted on one side, and then the scarring, normally covered with a Nickel Samurai mask or that peekaboo hairstyle on the other.

"You're not hiding anything from me," I snarl at him as I hear a whimper escape his lips and his mouth shut defiantly. "Come on." I'm studying his scars, so obvious and beautiful against the fake tan of the rest of his complexion.

He shudders, and when I feel his mouth on my cock again, it reverberates through me, almost making me moan in ecstasy.

I yank the hair on the right side of his face back to reveal the scarring. I don't know when it started, how he wound up like this; it must have been since he was offered a contract because the only place he'd have found work with scarring like that would have been at a freakshow.

The scars look old, and I study them carefully, even though I can feel him voluntariy sucking me off now, trying desperately to distract me, his tongue running little circles around the underside of my dick.

He's not looking at me any more. His eyes are clenched shut and he's putting so much effort into what he's doing that I realise it's no wonder he made it big time in this industry. People would  _pay_  for a blowjob like this.

I find myself moaning as his movement quickens, and his eyes open, startled. Taking the chance to run a finger down the pale, silver-pink scarring, I smile. "You did a good job of yourself there, didn't you?"

He spits me out and jerks backwards, despite the fact that I'm still gripping onto his fringe. "Fuck you," he spits. His face is wet and hot and angry.

"I'll do that too, if you like," I say calmly, catching my breath. "Like... after that children's charity thing... remember that?" I stroke his cheek, still smiling at him, before pulling him towards me again. "Finish me off," I tell him abruptly. "I've got to be in makeup in twenty minutes."

He says something, rather, starts to, but suddenly he's back on me again, and increasing the pressure and the speed. I gasp, taken momentarily by surprise, and can feel it coming, like I'm about to explode, and then there's his hand creeping up underneath me and I'm moving my legs wider apart and tilting myself forwards and...

" _Fuck_." I forgot the little prick had fingernails.

A stupid oversight on my part given the mess he's made of his face, and there's the piercing sting of pain against my inner thigh. It feels wet, and it's only when I look down that I see there's blood splashed over my skin, somehow on the tip of his nose, and gushing out against the cushioning of the chair I'm sitting in. At some stage my hand's connected with his face, and there's the  _smack_  of damp sweaty skin on tear-and-precum-streaked skin and I can feel my pulse racing and my body clenching.

I don't know why, but I come. He's looking so off-guard and surprised, taken aback from the slap, the now-red mark appearing across his face like an inkstain, the hurt and confusion and rage all over him like he's not quite sure what's going on, the tip of blood on his nose like bad face paint.

I hate him even though he looks so damned pretty like this.

"Like that, did you?" he asks. It's creepy, the way he's smirking at me, the way his hand runs through his hair, pushing the chunk of fringe over his scarring. Like it doesn't bother him especially.

I can feel the blood on my leg drying into sticky, bronze staining. It's amazing how much a few little scratches can  _sting_ , with an irritable sort of pain, the sort of thing I'm going to be reminded of every time I have a shower.

He giggles. Coy, childish, like he's actually  _done something_. A little demon in a red racing jacket with blood on his nose and a fucked up inside.

He wipes his index finger over the blood on his face, and, eyes--  _eye_ \-- staring at me intently-- puts it into his mouth and sucks it for a second. Like he's savoring something sweet and delicious.

It freaks me the fuck out, and I stay where I am. I don't like the way he's so fucking casual about it all.

"You'd better hope I'm not positive," I say nastily. 

He giggles again, and I wonder if it's just hysteria and front; something to hide the fact that he's essentially  _trapped_  in this situation with me. 

"Where's the DVD?" he asks again. He glimpses down at my now-flaccid cock and looks unimpressed. "I upheld  _my_  end of the bargain."

I hate his confidence. Next time this happens I'm going to make it worth my while, stretch it out a bit longer, make him  _sob_. His ease with the situation is...  _troublesome_.

"Underneath the DVD player," I say, adjusting myself, trying to look as eerily casual as he does. "Lift it up and you shall find it."

He walks over to the TV, lifting the silver DVD player. Sure enough, his booby prize which he hasn't realised, is there. 

"I thought you would have kept it in better condition," he says. He stays there, standing, and looks at me. The DVD is in his hands and with another creepy intense stare and a slight smile, he snaps it. There's the crack of breaking plastic, and he holds the two pieces, staring into them like he's looking into a broken mirror.

"That's one less piece of dirt you have on me," he says coolly. "Good luck finding anything  _else_."

This is where I can feel my insides warming. Stupid little fuck has no idea that he really ain't that squeaky clean. But I'm not going to let on about that yet. I have ideas for him.  _Plans_. But they need to be executed at precisely the right time.

I gnash my teeth and sigh; he should be aware enough to tell that I'm acting, but he isn't, thinking he's milked real, human emotion, a kneejerk reaction from me. How touching.

"Does Adrian know you like cock?" I ask snidely. "Did Celeste?" I don't like talking about her. But I want to see him jump.

I'm pissed off when he doesn't, and he giggles instead, walking towards the door.

"What do you think?" he asks. I don't know what to think. Maybe I'll ask Adrian about it.

I'm finding it interesting that he doesn't just drop the broken pieces of the DVD on the floor; he's still holding them there-- usually he leaves trash around afterwards, like my room is some kind of tip. Like he's desecrating sacred space or something.

"I don't think you're as smart as you think you are," I tell him. I relax back in the chair, trying to ignore the smell in the room. I want a shower. But I don't want him to see me looking uncomfortable. Showing fear is letting him win, and I know that. Adrian once told me that thinking like him is letting him win.

Everyone, except him, amusingly enough-- thinks I'm such a nice guy. It pisses me off that of everyone,  _he_  knows the real me.

  
He smirks. "I'll see you later," he says, avoiding my comment, walking out of the room and closing the door quietly behind him.

I hear footsteps heading away and slink off to the shower, thinking about what I know and haven't revealed yet and thinking about how beautiful it's going to look watching his public downfall. Next week. The awards ceremony.

 _Nickel Samurai's Nasty Surprise_  I think to myself with a chuckle as I wash the blood from my skin and feel the sting of the cuts once more.  _Jammin' Ninja Celebrates Win_.


End file.
